


Dear Mr Fantasy

by highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees?, Family, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Men of Letters Bunker, My First Work in This Fandom, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Quote: "Dude. On my car. He showed up naked covered in bees.", Saving People Hunting Things, Self-Esteem Issues, Sensory Overload, haha not actually a quote from this, hunter reader, it's just a cool tag, please read carefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath/pseuds/highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath
Summary: Dear Mr Fantasy, play us a tune...





	Dear Mr Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first work contributing to the Supernatural fandom and I would really appreciate feedback!  
> As I mentioned in the tags, the reader suffers a panic attack so if this affects you, please read at your own discretion. Rated T for language.  
> The title is the song I was listening to at the time (which is also played at the end of 7x11) and I couldn't think of anything better.
> 
> Above all else, please enjoy!

Every time Sam decided to turn a page in a book, you would look up from where you sat opposite him, glaring, but he wouldn’t notice the heat of your scowl or how you would attempt to go back to skimming through the words in search of something, anything, that could help with your current case. He didn’t notice how you hadn’t once turned a page in the last ten minutes, instead opting to cross-reference a couple of books at the same time, and all you could focus on was the way he would slam the book down on the table or on top of another book, and how the dust it would occasionally send up would laugh at you, mocking and jeering.

At the table next to you, Dean was tapping away at his laptop, the click of keys frequent but arrhythmic and all you wanted to do was storm over there and slam the screen down on the clicking and the scrolling along with his fingers, but in front of you, the words swam in seas of ink, slowly drowning you.

You were stuck in one of those hard wooden chairs that were uncomfortably polished with the passing of many butts and it was too slippery to concentrate on much else and you _had_ to focus on the pages but you just _couldn’t_. You rest your head in your hands and take a moment to breathe. You know where this is going and you need to take a break to prevent yourself from screaming into the void, but there is already screaming inside your head and you can’t really take a break because the brothers would just give you a disappointed look and carry on without you, then they’d probably find a solution and rush off to finish what was started - without you. You can’t let that happen.

Taking a deep breath, you focus on the expansion of your lungs, how your diaphragm relaxes then contracts, how your head seems to clear a little at the rush of oxygen. But your moment is ruined by the fan that ventilates the place. It’s so loud, so obnoxiously loud. Its hum fills your mind like bees returning to their hive after a long day, exhausted but filled with a sense of dignified purpose. And you want them out of you, you want them _out_ so bad and now the pounding of your heart has joined the cacophony that only gets infuriatingly worse as the metronome of your breathing speeds up into shallow breaths and all you can think of is getting out of here but you don’t know whether you can stand and nevertheless you know you have to stop the bees and the rustling and the clicking.

The screech of your chair against the polished wooden floor is like standing next to the roar of a rocket launching, and you are too preoccupied with trying to fill your lungs again and get away from the bees that might have turned into hornets now - maybe they’ll leave you alone if you hide away in your room - that you don’t notice Dean shoot a questioning look towards his brother, thinking that maybe he’d zoned out on a conversation you might have been having, but Sam only shrugs in reply because he is just as confused by your behaviour as his brother is.

You barely make it onto your bed before your knees give in. You pull your pillow over your head, attempting to stop the world from crashing in on you and when the bees turn in for the night, and Dean’s typing and Sam’s page turning and book slamming eventually stop resonating around your skull, you can finally focus on deepening your breaths and slowing the runaway train of your heart. Slowly but surely, the world stops spinning out of control yet you don’t remove the pillow from covering your ears because the hum of the ventilation was reduced to a whisper and that was all you could deal with right now.

It was when your thoughts were becoming more orderly that you noticed there was a wet patch on the sheet beneath you and only then did your face feel wet and eyes burn hot. You weren’t able to determine the amount of time that had passed before there was a knock on your door, but three short and sharp raps against the wood were crisp and clear and were able to cut through all the fuzz.

*

“Huh, what’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask?”

The elder brother had the audacity to look affronted before retorting, “Why don’t you?”

Sam sighed, not willing to play games, “Fine, but you get them some water because they’re your friend too, Dean.”

As Dean left for the kitchen, Sam glanced over at where you had been working. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but the lore book you’d been reading hadn’t been moved and he couldn’t remember for the life of him if he’d heard or seen you turning the pages. Then again, in retrospect, he recalled glancing in your direction once when he had heard you forcibly inhale, holding your head in your hands, but he had dismissed it for giving yourself a small break from the book in front of you.

Sam quickly left the library and headed to the bedroom you had claimed as your own when they had first let you stay at the bunker which had now become your permanent residence. Further down the hallway, he saw dean carrying a glass of water and what looked like a bar of chocolate - his brother always knew how to make you feel better. Sam was the first one to your door, promptly knocking then shushing Dean as he approached so he could listen for any signs of movement on the other side.

*

“Y/n?” Sam’s voice was muffled but it was undoubtedly laced with concern. “Y/n, are you in there?”

Sitting up and replacing your pillow, you stared at the door, not wanting your voice to betray you.

“Y/n, we just want to make sure you’re okay,” chimed in Dean.

Their concern for your welfare twisted something inside your heart and it took all you had to choke back a sob, your eyes filling with fresh tears and causing you to sniffle slightly.

Sam cracked the door open and peered inside, a frown colouring his features when he sees your red-rimmed eyes. He rushes over in a couple of long strides and perches opposite you. Dean follows with more hesitant steps but wears a similar expression as his brother.

“Y/n, what happened? What’s wrong? Let us help,” implores Sam and you really want to tell them, you desperately want to let it all off of your chest but even though your lips are moving your tongue refuses to form the words you want to share.

_and oh no please don’t let this happen again lungs please work please I beg you sam and dean don’t need to see me have a fucking breakdown they’ll think I’m so fucking weak_

You take a shuddering breath as tears slip unbidden down your cheeks and all you can do is shake your head as if doing so would shake free all that ails you but it doesn’t and each lungful burns but when Sam grasps your hands in his, your vision clears and focuses on how he is rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and it's grounding.

But it’s not enough. The affection they’re showing is overwhelming and you really love them so much, you’d do anything for them, but in this state, you’re so helpless and this time you don’t have the energy to hold back a cry that wracks your frame. Dean rushes to place what he was carrying on your bedside table and sidles next you, quickly wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, holding you up when you can’t do so yourself.

“Shh,” Dean tries his best to comfort you as he gently rocks from side to side. “It’s alright, sweetheart, we’re here.”

Nothing more is said and the sound of the three of you breathing fills the room and it’s almost peaceful. You don’t know how much time has passed, but soon your tears dry up and you stop sniffling and you can’t help but lean more into Dean, the warmth he is radiating is almost magnetic, while you direct a watery smile in Sam’s direction, a silent thanks that a squeeze of a hand cannot provide by itself.

Sam is the first to break the silence, softly asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head no and Sam nods in understanding, quickly glancing at his brother to see if his reaction was any different, both them knowing that you’d tell them when you were ready.

Dean squeezes you once, reassuring you of his presence before he stands up and hands you the chocolate bar he’d brought in earlier. Sam follows suit and pulls you up, leading you out of your room and back to the library with a comforting arm casually slung around your shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get back to work. You take it easy though, Y/n. Then we can go out and gank some sons of bitches!” Dean exclaimed with a pump of his fist and you chuckle at his antics, the sound travelling lightly through the air, making both brothers smile. You’d be okay.


End file.
